


Sixteen (and a half)

by witchway



Series: The Thing That Lives Under The Bed [5]
Category: Iron Man (Comics), Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Cuddles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Demon!Tony, Eventual Happy Ending, Heavy Petting, Heavy Petting to completion, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Off Screen Violence, Off screen domestic violence, Protective Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, eventual oral sex, off screen gun violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:48:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25231144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchway/pseuds/witchway
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark, Starker - Relationship, Tony Stark/Peter Parker
Series: The Thing That Lives Under The Bed [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1823884
Comments: 43
Kudos: 92





	1. The Loveless House -- We've Done Something Really Bad

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrstarksbaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrstarksbaby/gifts).



“Tony, you have to come out and talk to me as soon as you can. I really, seriously, for serious, just - say - No-joke, really _really_ mean it. I mean it, Tony, it’s heavy. You have to come out. We’ve done something really bad.”

But it was too early, of course. Even covering up the window with a blanket wouldn’t help. It was two hours until sundown and even at his strongest, Tony couldn’t come out from under the bed if there was more than an hour of daylight left. Peter knew that.

But Peter also knew what Tony had told him many times, that _when he was fed better_ there was a great deal of daylight he could tolerate. “If I am unseen and unheard,” he would say cryptically, but Peter hadn’t asked too many questions. He simply didn’t have any pigs or cows to feed Tony whether he wanted to or not. 

Going outside was difficult, Aunt May was beside herself with fear and flitting helplessly about the kitchen or else sitting bold upright on the sofa, looking out the window with wide eyes. Peter talked her down with gentle, steady words, assuring her he was just going to check on the animals. It wasn’t difficult, convincing her to do the same, to go and try to lure the cats-that-come-to-the-house and lock them in the garage for the night. Making it all the easier for Peter to catch one of the barncats and sneak it into his bedroom.

The half-grown kitten snuggled peacefully into Peter’s arms. They all snuggled peacefully if you rubbed the scruff of their neck long enough. It didn’t move, or protest at all, when Peter took it firmly by the scruff of the neck and held it down under the bed. As he felt it’s heartbeat slow underneath his hand his own heartbeat quickened. Feeling it’s tiny body _melt_ in his hands until it was nothing but a pile of fur on the floor, well, that was a sensation Peter could have gone his whole life without. 

Still, it didn’t produce Tony. 

So he went and got another one.

After the second cat died peacefully under his bed Peter began to get really nervous. The second time he had gone to the barn the barncats had run from him, as if they knew. Besides, that was the last cat with any black on it – Tony especially liked black cats. According to him, the Post Daughters never offered him anything _but_ black cats. Peter was sitting cross legged on his floor, vaguely wondering where a man could get a black cat an hour at 4 o’clock in the afternoon on a Saturday when Tony began to emerge from under the bed.

Peter didn’t close his eyes. He forced himself to watch his friend transform from the thick, pitchblack smoke into a human form. It flitted through his mind that Tony didn’t smell of earth and old incense anymore. Now he smelled of books and Aunt May’s dryer sheets. He smelled like Peter’s bedroom.

Soon Tony was sitting cross legged in front of Peter, knee to knee. Peter was concerned to see that he didn’t look strong at all. He was back to that lean, gaunt look he wore after he had done a great deal of work and needed to rest. He had silver hair at his temples again. Peter had sent him all the way to the library in Ithica to check to see if some book titles were there, and Tony always had to rest after trips like that. Peter cursed himself now. He hadn’t really needed to check on books in Ithica. He had just said that to keep Tony busy.

Tony didn’t speak, but his face was full of concern. He took both Peter’s hands in his and waited patiently.

“Tony, we did something really bad,” Peter said, his voice breaking. He had been brave in front of Aunt May. He had been brave in front of Uncle Ben. He had been brave with Ms. Drury on the telephone. He took a deep breath and tried to be brave now.

“Do you remember when I sent you to the Lovelace house to feed on Missy’s fear, and I told you I wanted you to make her not afraid of her father? But you saw things, you saw other things going on in that house, didn’t you…”

Tony nodded. “But you told me not to tell you. You bade me not spy upon them…”

Peter nodded, his breath catching. “I know, I know. And I bade you convince Missy to stop monopolizing the new teacher all the time…” 

Peter’s voice broke. He didn’t try to go on. He couldn’t believe how selfish he had been. Every kid had wanted Miss Drury’s undivided attention, but that’s why he had been so irritated at Missy. Because she was getting it. Talking to Ms. Drury every day after school when Peter had wanted to pick the new science teacher’s brain about Charles Darwin. The Devil’s Holler school curriculum wasn’t supposed to dwell too much on evolution (Origin of Species wasn’t even in the school library) but Miss Drury had actually been _to the Galapagos Islands_ , and the Darwin Museum in London to boot. Peter wasn’t the only one who was irritated that Missy seemed to be talking to Miss Drury privately every day. Yes, Ms. Drury had told them “If you have any questions you can call me, day or night,” and given them her private number, but that had been to _all_ of them. Not just the girls. Not just Missy Lovelace.

When Peter had told Uncle Ben about how different Ms. Drury was, about how she was strict enough to keep the boys Personal Health class completely in line (something Peter considered miraculous) and yet personable enough to get those same boys to ask questions they’d never thought they’d be voicing out loud, Ben had told him “don’t get attached.” 

“Teacher’s like that don’t stay long in schools like Devil’s Holler,” he had said, and Aunt May had told him to shush. But Peter understood. First-year teachers, fresh out of college, never stayed more than a year at his backwater school. Ms. Drury had arrived in December after Mr. Huntly accidentally shot his thumb off at home and had to retire early. Arrived just in time for the boys and girls to be split up for health class. Rumor had it she was the best split-class teacher Devil’s Holler ever had. It was March now, and rumor had it Ms. Drury would be moving back to New York City at the end of May. Rumor had it she never even unpacked her bags.

Tony was watching Peter’s face closely as he scrubbed away the tears. Finally he spoke.

“You bade me convince the girl to stop speaking to the new teacher in private, _unless it was of great importance_.” 

Peter’s breath caught. “Did I, did I say that?” He asked, taking a deep gulping breath, his body flooding with relief. He _had_ said that. It had been the day that Ms. Drury had been fifteen minutes late for his science class because she had been talking down a crying Missy in the hallway. When she had returned to the class, having sent the inconsolable Missy to the office, she herself was too discombobulated to teach, and declared it a free period. The rest of the class seemed to think it was a good thing. Peter was livid. 

“She’s afraid of so many things, there’s so much for you to eat there,” Peter had explained to Tony that night, after drawing the map showing Tony how to get to the Lovelace house. It sat on the other side of the southern border, where Tony knew the Berthwald seals were weakest. It was no great matter for him to visit the derelict mobile home where Missy lived with her mom and dad. “She’s afraid of big dogs and spiders and this house and big cities and half the stuff on TV. And she’s so afraid of her dad. When she gets bad grades she gets so scared she shakes. But when she gets an A? She _cries_ . She says her dad hates people who “think they’re smart.” That’s why he hates me. Which is fine, but it’s the craziest thing, Tony. If she gets lower than a C she’ll complain all the way home, but if she gets an A? She’ll let the paper blow away so she doesn’t have to take it home. There’s enough fear in that house to feed you the rest of your life. And, can you make her forget that whole ‘Tom Dylan/Laura Foster’ story? I’m sick to death of hearing how _romantic_ that story is. It’s not romantic. That man cut off his girlfriend’s _hands_ before he cut her throat. I’m tired of hearing about it.”

Peter shook his head hard, trying to rid himself of the memories. He took a deep, steadying breath. Tony was holding his hands firmly and looking closely at his face. Peter squeezed those hands and nodded.

“Good. That’s good. I’m _glad_ I said that. That was _one_ good thing we did, then.

“Because last night Missy called Ms. Drury at her house and asked if it was okay that her dad was planning on burying her mom in the backyard. She didn’t think it was right, but she was worried because she knew she couldn’t keep her mom in the bedroom forever. Because the body was attracting flies.

“Ms. Drury told her to leave out her window and walk to our house, and I don’t know how she even got up the nerve to do it because she’s afraid of the dark, AND my house, but she did it. Ms. Drury took her car and met her at the end of our road. We never even knew she was there. Ms. Drury took her to the police and now she’s leaving town. We wouldn’t have even known about it if Ms. Drury hadn’t called us this morning.

“Tony, Mr. Lovelace killed his wife, and now _nobody knows where he is_. The police told us not to worry about it but that’s because Mr. Lovelace is Sheriff Bentley’s cousin. Uncle Ben asked for a policeman to park in our driveway and they just laughed at him. Aunt May is really scared. Mr. Lovelace threatened us over the phone more than once and he sent us that weird letter? And I guess he and Uncle Ben had an argument out by his property when one of their dogs went missing… and we all know what happened to John Wickam. And the last time he saw Uncle Ben he said some things but I don’t know what. No one will tell me anything. But Missy and Mike both told me he once said he’d shoot me if he ever saw me…”

Tony nodded calmly.

“Is there…? Do you know? I know I told you I didn’t want to know what was going on in that house, but…”

“He has declared to his family that he shall shoot you with his army pistol if you cross onto his property. He believes you mean to marry his daughter. And he has explained the use of the same weapon upon your Uncle Ben.”

Peter’s shoulder’s sank. “He called last night sounding drunk but Aunt May just hung up on him and took the phone off the hook. Uncle Ben’s cleaned out the rifle and loaded it, and I haven’t even seen that thing since we first moved here. It’s _serious_ , Tony.”

He shook his head hard, straightened his shoulders, and held onto Tony’s hands tightly, and looked him square in the eye. 

“I really, seriously, for serious, just-say-No joke, _really_ really need you to find Mr. Lovelace. I need you to find him and kill him. Before he even gets on our property…” His voice broke. He took a deep breath and continued with his eyes closed. “I know it doesn’t have to hurt. Take the light out of his brain first, because I don’t want him to suffer…” But Tony was shaking his head sadly.

Holding Peter’s hands, Tony leaned forward until their foreheads were touching, and when he spoke, he spoke very gently.

“I cannot. 

“In your fifteenth year you forbade me from ‘killing people again.’” He nuzzled along the side of Peter’s face, stroking along his lips with one thumb. “The spell for unbinding me from your prohibition are in the books that were burned…”

Peter sobbed and sank into Tony’s arms. Tony pulled him completely into his lap and rocked him back and forth, gentling him and caressing his hair while Peter wept with relief. 


	2. Snakes

In his fifteenth year, Peter had often thought Tony’s life was just like the life of Old-Blue, the dog that came with the house. Old-Blue had always been content to lay lazily in the sunlight throughout the day. He would gladly come when he was called, was happy to play if anyone was interested. Was always interested in being fed or being pat on the head. But for the most part he was also happy to lay in the sunlight and nap. In the back of his mind, Peter had pictured Tony just like that, soaking up the darkness under the bed the same way Old-Blue soaked up the sun.

In Peter’s sixteenth year, he learned that Tony was nothing like Old-Blue at all.

When Tony had explained to Peter that he had to spend the summer months under the bed, “in the darkness” Peter had naturally pictured Tony as a hibernating bear, headed into his cave to sleep through the summer the way a bear slept through the winter. He couldn’t have been more wrong. Now that Tony had a name and Peter as his “master” things were different. That summer spent under the bed had been less like a bear in a winter cave and more like a caterpillar in a cocoon. 

But unlike a caterpillar, Tony had been _feeding_ for the entire summer. Feeding unseen. Feeding on Peter’s continuous reading, but now Tony was feeding on a great deal more. He had been feeding on Aunt May’s contentment every time she sat at her window and watched the sunrise, on Uncle Ben’s irritation at politicians every time he read the newspaper. Maybe, in Peter’s fifteenth year, Tony _had_ been a lot like Old-Blue. At least he had been, when he went under the bed for the summer. But when he emerged he was something different.

He was more like a working-dog, now, Peter reasoned. Peter had read a great deal about dogs when they first moved to the Post Homestead, in the beginning when the family had determined they would buy another dog to be a friend for Old-Blue. They wanted to be fully informed before they went out to find a dog (Not that it mattered, in the end, all the dogs they owned had found them.) They quickly determined they did not, as a family, have enough energy for a working-dog. Working-dogs, the book warned, had to be kept busy at all times.

Otherwise, the working-dog would become destructive.

Keeping Tony busy, Peter found, might easily turn into a full-time job. Fortunately a single journey outside the Post border meant that Tony would need to rest for days. On those nights they could snuggle and talk, Tony feeding several times from the vein in Peter’s neck, Peter’s back pressed snuggly into Tony’s chest. (Peter preferred it that way. His erection still appeared when Tony fed, but it was no longer as painful or urgent. And, like the rest of his body, it always relaxed when Tony fed.) 

Sending Tony out to spy on his neighbors was rude, Peter knew, but it was necessary to keep Tony occupied. Tony would obediently investigate and report on the population of owls or foxes or other wildlife on the Post property, but it was clearly uninterested in the duty. Despite the detailed reports Peter kept in his notebooks it was, in the end, hard for Peter to pretend that it wasn’t just busywork. They both agreed that life on an actual farm, with animals to guard and protect, was far more exciting for Tony than living with Peter the Bookworm (although Peter never tired of being called “ _My Library-Pilgrim_.”) On Dark Moons or stormy nights Tony would venture to the local library or to the school -- he could travel to anywhere Peter could draw on a map or show him in a dream, but what he could learn in those places, after dark, was limited. 

Both buildings enjoyed a complete eradication of their mouse and rat population, but feeding Tony “sustenance” just gave him more strength, and giving him more strength made him more restless. 

It could be fun, sometimes. On a rare occasion Peter knew what his teachers talked about in their houses in the evenings. Occasionally he could predict a pop quiz or the next subject to be taught. But spying on teachers mostly just informed Peter that they were underpaid, his school was underfunded and their lives in this small town were just as boring as his.

Convincing Tony to change May and Ben’s minds on certain subjects, like what shows he should be allowed to watch on the new channels that they were getting, took some doing. Tony considered May and Ben to be his Master and Mistress after Peter, and there had been a general prohibition in the Post family against teenagers using Tony to convince guardians to easing restrictions or change long-standing rules. But there were no specific spells _protecting_ May or Ben from Tony’s influence, and Peter could usually talk his friend into it. 

Tony insisted it took a great deal of feeding, not just the from-the-neck kind, but also the skin-to-skin and the kissing kind. It took a great deal of kissing before Tony could convince Uncle Ben to let Peter make more long-distance phone calls. Until Peter found out just how expensive long distance phone calls were. (Peter found out a lot about his guardians financial troubles that year -- that’s why Tony didn't do a lot of spying on _them_ anymore.)

In fact, Peter learned a great deal about the adults around him, and while what he learned made him wiser, it did not make him happier. Finding out that Tony was not an all-knowing entity took Peter aback, but finding out that _none_ of the adults around him were all-knowing either? That was a blow that took him a very long while to recover from

Oh well, at least the Devil’s Hollow librarians were nice to him now. Knowing _their_ financial frustrations and aspirations made it very easy to win them over by day, while Tony skillfully won them over by night. 

As March crept steadily toward April keeping Tony _busy_ was not nearly as important to Peter as keeping Tony _fed_. Tony bragged that, when the Post family fed him well, he only had to sleep for three days at “Litha” (which seemed to be June 21rst.) Even now Tony assured Peter he might last ‘till “Walspurgestnaught, or beyond” which meant they would still have to say good-bye in May. 

But keeping Tony fed wasn’t simple. 

Using Tony to euthanize animals that were destined for the pound, for instance, was a complicated matter. The Post family had only fed him healthy farm animals, Tony reminded him, but Peter had no healthy farm animals to offer up. So when the mangy yellow dog limped into the yard, flies in his nose and labored breathing making it clear it would not be joining the family pack (Uncle Ben called it “Old Yeller” because he was obviously going to die) Tony seemed like the obvious solution. He consumed the body completely, leaving only the faintest trace of matted fur behind. 

But for the next two days he crawled into Peter’s bed and lay there limply on the bed, nuzzling Petre’s face over and over again, begging for kisses, suckling Peter’s fingers weakly. Even when they met in dreams Peter had to search for Tony, finally finding him in the lavish bedroom, lying exhausted on the curtained bed, begging to be fed.

(And did Peter enjoy taking care of Tony that way? Enjoy turning Tony’s face towards his with tender fingertips, enjoy slipping his tongue into Tony’s mouth again and again, while Tony tangled gentle fingers in Peter’s hair and moaned in appreciation? Oh yes, yes Peter certainly did.)

Was it the same way, when Tony consumed the rat populations of various buildings? Peter really couldn't say. _Maybe_ Tony’s hands were busier then, maybe he used more teeth when he kissed, Peter wasn’t sure. It wasn’t obvious.

It wasn’t like the rattlesnakes.

Peter had sent Tony out multiple times on a search for venomous snakes. Aunt May despised snakes, and Peter enjoyed reassuring her that she wouldn’t run into any dangerous ones on their property, a promise he trusted Tony to keep. When Tony _finally_ found a nest of rattlers, albeit several miles south of the Post border, he had Peter’s permission to consume them, bodies and all.

Peter didn't exactly complain when Tony surprised him in his bed later that night, dragging him out from under the covers and molding their bodies together, feeding breathlessly from the vein in Peter’s neck, moaning and holding Peter tightly with powerful arms. Peter was grateful his back was pressed against Tony’s chest. At that moment, he wasn’t completely sure he could push Tony away enough to hide his erection. He didn’t stop it. He _liked_ it when Tony moaned and panted when they were together, when Tony clutched at him with hungry hands.

He didn’t really fight back when Tony pushed him down face-first into the bed, sucking hungrily, pumping his hips against Peter’s hips, forcing Peter to rub his boxer-covered cock against the covers. He didn’t have _time_ to fight back. He _did_ manage to call out “ _Tony?!_ ” twice before his treacherous boxers slid down and he found himself coming helplessly on the bed.

He _did_ fight back then, pushing Tony off and diving under the covers, hiding his head as Tony hungrily grabbed the bedspread with both hands and…

...well Peter wasn’t really ready to acknowledge what Tony had done with the wetspot.

“ _You_ sleep under the bed tonight!” Peter hissed at him, and Tony silently obeyed, dissolving into the darkness under the bed without a sound. “No more rattlesnake dinners for you!” 

They never spoke of it again.

(Sometimes Tony spoke longingly of the deer that used to be hunted in that forest, deer that certainly would return someday now that there was no hunting on Peter’s family’s land. Peter hadn’t given his consent to that just yet. It wasn’t just that he considered every deer he spotted a character from Bambi, Peter knew what male deer were like in the spring. What would Tony be like after consuming _that_?)

But Peter couldn’t deny that he had sent Tony out into the forest, over and over again, to seek out other animals who were dying. He justified it in his brain by saying he was doing the animals a favor, euthanizing them and putting them out of their misery. 

But if he was being honest (and Peter was _trying_ to be more honest with himself. Trying, at least) he only had one reason for sending Tony after dying animals. When Tony took the light from a dying animal’s brain, then consumed their aged or wounded or diseased body, he came back to Peter’s bed different. Of all of Tony’s different moods, Peter felt safest with this one. When he got to carry Tony in his arms and lift him to the bed, tuck him under the covers. When he got to move Tony’s mouth around for a kiss, move his wrist or his fingers to Tony’s mouth.

He hated himself for it, but he _loved_ it when Tony clung to him, meekly asking for physical affection. Then Peter could be in complete control of everything they did in bed together. He could lay his body close to Tony, or angle it away, if he wanted to hide his erection.

But Peter had never seen Tony so weak, so helpless, as when he returned from stopping Mr. Lovelace.


	3. The Ghost Of Peter Parker

It was a strange idea, that in March, Peter was still embarrassed by getting an erection around Tony.

Now, on the first day of April, Peter longed to worry about something so simple.

He clung to Tony’s neck, weeping in relief that he didn’t have to decide whether or not to kill Mr. Lovelace. That decision had already been made by a scolding he had given Tony when he was 15. He didn’t even know Tony had been listening. 

Tony held him close, not even feeding, rocking him and smoothing back his hair. He sang very softly, something that might have been Portuguese. But when he tried to kiss Peter’s tears away, Peter objected.

“Don’t take my sadness, I don’t want to forget this. I need to remember what we’ve… what _I’ve_ done.”

“There are many ripe berries on this bush, sweet Master. Let me pic a few,” Tony murmured. 

For a while Peter thought he might never want to move. He was being cradled in Tony’s arms like a baby, being held close, his face kissed. But as time passed he began to feel silly, so he pushed his way out of Tony’s arms and wiped his face dry with the back of his hands. “Okay, so killing him is out. What _are_ we going to do?” Peter asked calmly.

Letting Tony take the edge off his guilt and panic helped quite a bit, Peter realized, as he and Tony strategized, Peter leaning against Tony’s chest, Tony feeding from the vein in his wrist.

“There are at least 4 more cats in the barn, if you can catch them. I think they know they’re food now…

“They cannot escape me,” Tony said, looking up from Peter’s wrist with an eerie smile.

“…and at least three owls in the barn, maybe four. But they’re very small. If I feed you now, _and_ you get to them the moment it gets dark, is that enough for this?”

Tony shook his head and looked up, kissing Peter’s hand. “I cannot tell,” he said, keeping his lips next to Peter’s fingers. “First, give me permission to sleep in the ground if I must, and I will return to this room when I am able, but I may needs rest in the darkness for many nights. Mayhap I may speak to you in dreams. But if you _feed_ me every night, the way you fed me at Mabon, it will suffice.”

Peter sighed. “I’m going to have to join 4H and start raising goats, aren’t I?” he mused as Tony went back to sucking on his wrist. “Wait that probably won’t work – I’d flunk 4H if all my goats mysteriously died. Rabbits. I’ll have to convince May and Ben we can really raise rabbits. Then just act surprised when they turn up missing…”

Tony’s smile was unreadable. His eyes wandered down Peter’s chest. He lifted his mouth and he looked as if he were about to say something, but changed his mind, and returned to feeding.

“Look, Mr. Lovelace killed his wife with his 44, that’s what Miss Drury said Missy said. He has a 44, his gun from the army, and a long hunting rifle he was taking walks with. And we already know he can kill a dog from 30 feet away with the rifle. That's how John Wickam’s dog died. Mr. Lovelace denied it, but the Wickam’s saw it happen. That man is crazy, but he’s a _damn_ good shot.

“Ms. Drury called Aunt May to let me know Missy was okay. She was surprised that I didn’t know about it… Ms. Drury is, I mean. Missy said she saw me last night. She said I didn’t even talk to her, but pointed her to the road she was to meet Ms. Drury on. When she said she was scared to walk down it I held her hand until we saw Ms. Drury’s Rabbit’s headlights. She said I must have been sleepwalking because I never spoke. Ms. Drury said it must have been her guardian angel. All I know is Aunt May spent the next 20 minutes explaining how no one in our family sleepwalks…”

Tony licked a long, slow stripe up Peter’s wrist, then kissed it tenderly, meaning he was finished feeding. Then he turned and looked into Peter’s eyes, bringing their foreheads together.

“You _told_ me to take her fear. You told me to consume it completely.” 

“It was _you_?”

“She fled to Chimney Hill. She has no fear of that place. She has forgotten the story of Tom Dylan, but she remembers that Laura Foster once lived on Chimney Hill. Then, from the hill to the dead oak, and from the oak to the lake, there was full moonlight. She no longer fears darkness. But past the lake, under the trees, she was _blind_ . She was afraid. I took it all. But when she came in sight of the house, she feared to pass. She still fears the house. I met her at the path to point her the way. I knew what you wished. I showed her nothing frightening. I showed her _you_. 

“But she would not take the road east. She said she was too afraid. She asked if I was the ghost of you. But when I smiled at her, and held her hand. My hand was warm. She came with me down the road. Pardon, Master, I know you do not wish her to wish to hold your hand…”

Peter took Tony’s face in both hands and kissed him. A real kiss, without feeding. Tony did nothing, at first. Only opened his mouth a little bit, tilting his head a little bit until Peter let him go.

“Thank you,” was all Peter said. It was all he could think to say.

“I have served you well,” Tony whispered, and now his long arms were wrapping around Peter and Peter relaxed against his shoulder as Tony kissed his face. This was _normal_ Tony-behavior, and Peter gave himself a moment to enjoy it.

“I will serve you most masterfully tonight, and you shall make me your beloved. You shall see all my skill. If an enemy of the family meets me in battle, the seals of Evorá, what is left of them, will feed me. I shall make him lay down where he stands, even in the middle of the road, he shall not rise until morning…”

“Wait, that doesn’t sound good. Isn’t that what you did to the pigs? When you made them lay down and die?”

“They laid down and died because I ate them.”

Peter shivered a little at Tony’s wicked smile. He knew he had to be very specific, now. He knew Tony was proud of his work.

“Well, don’t make him lay down in the middle of the road, he might get run over. What else can you do?

Tony ran a strong hand over Peter’s thigh, and then over his calf. Peter might have relaxed and enjoyed the touch under different circumstances.

“These… these are still called _muscles_? And what is this now called,” he said, his fingers tracing over Peter’s knee. It was a lovely feeling, and Peter made a mental note to get Tony to touch him there again when it was all over.

“The cartilage?”

“The sinew, that which is not meat,” he indicated ‘meat’ by firmly stroking Peter’s calf muscles again. “The sinew that connects the muscles to each other…”

“The ligaments?” 

“There is light in these,” Tony explained, stroking Peter’s calf muscle with a firm but gentle hand. “When that light is gone, a man is not inclined to walk very far. And when the light is gone from this,” he stroked his hand under Peter’s knee, indicating the ligament. “A man is not inclined to move it at all. Although Mr. Lovelace is a man accustomed to a great deal of pain. That alone might not dissuade him.

“I _can_ take the light from the bone, but if I do, a man will surely die.”

“Then don’t do that. And don’t make him lay down somewhere dangerous, like in the road or something. Wait, if you did that to his arms, could he use his arms? It’s important he not be able to shoot. Can you make his arms not move? If he couldn’t shoot, that would be something. He’s still huge though…”

Tony moved his hands and, slipping them into the small place between their bodies, placed both on Peter’s chest. 

“There are two of _these_ ,” Tony said, caressing Peter’s chest in a way that was _very_ distracting, even under the circumstances. “When the light is gone from one,” he whispered, moving one hand away and leaving the other in place,” a man is not inclined to walk very far.”

“What… you mean the lungs?”

“And there are two of _these_ ,” Tony said, sounding almost hungry. He moved his hands and placed them firmly on Peter’s lower back, indicating, Peter assumed, his kidneys.

“When the light is gone from one, a man is not inclined to do anything.”

“But… you mean… for a while, right? The light _comes back_ , doesn’t it?”

Tony looked disappointed. “ _That_ is tricky work, but it can be done.”

“Tony, can you make Aunt May be not-so scared?”

Tony smiled sadly. He looked down at Peter’s chest again, even reached out to stroke Peter’s chest with his knuckles, directly under his left nipple, but he never said why.

“ _If_ I could be two places at one time, yes,” he said with a wry smile. “But I am no longer that strong.”

* * * * *

Peter and May stayed up all night playing Yahtzee and dominoes, finally sitting down to watch TV. For a while Uncle Ben sat in the car with his rifle, while Peter walked back and forth each hour to wake him up. Finally it was agreed that the whole family would be safer in the house. A tearful Aunt May complained that they left New York City _because_ of the violence. She apologized to Peter, who only smiled, threw up his hands and attributed it to “fate.” 

May and Ben discussed how miserable Peter had been when they first moved to Devil’s Holler, how he had cried almost every day for weeks. Peter tried to keep up his end of the conversation, but, in truth, he was wondering if Missy. Would her life have been better, or worse, without him? At least the girl got to fulfill her lifelong dream, to walk down a gravel road in the moonlight, holding Peter Parker’s hand. 

He wondered why Tony could make the girl forget about Tom Dylan, but not about Laura Foster.

In the early morning hours both May and Ben fell asleep on the couch, allowing Peter to watch more interesting shows on their late-night channels, his eyes wide. He was wondering how he could wake up in the middle of the night to enjoy these shows in private when he heard something at the door. 

He opened the door without hesitation to let Tony in. “Good job,” he whispered. The vaguely kitten-shaped bundle of fur made a small, vaguely catlike noise before dissolving into smoke and disappearing into the floor. Then Peter took his place back on the couch in front of the television. He knew there was no point in telling May and Ben to go to bed, even though he knew the danger was over. So he spent the rest of the night combing through old TV guides, looking for more information about the shows he was probably too chicken to watch.

It was amazing, what they could get away with on HBO.


	4. Return To Castle Dracula

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter offered a vein, but Tony seemed to only want to kiss him over and over again. For a very long time they held each other silently, kissing and touching. Peter stroked Tony’s face, kissing and lapping his tongue into Tony’s mouth, coaxing out Tony’s tongue. Tony seemed too weak to even cling to him. Peter took Tony’s hand and spread it over his chest, letting Tony feel the steady beat. In time Tony began to rouse, reaching up to tangle his fingers through Peter’s hair, pulling him close. Finally he broke the kiss and brought Peter’s fingers into his mouth. As he fed, Peter spoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, to my excellent artist von-gelmini for this moodboard.
> 
> Not that it was hard to convince him to return to Castle Dracula.

****

**Return To Castle Dracula**

When Peter opened his eyes to the black fingers bare branches grasping for the sliver of moon, he knew where he was. He didn’t waste a moment playing “Am I dreaming?” games. Instead he bolted into Castle Dracula and dashed up the stairs two at a time, pelting down the hallway to the rose-strewn bedroom.

Sadly, Tony wasn’t there at all, not even under the covers of the creamy white bed. Peter moaned as he began his search of the dark castle. Dammit, his friend was probably stargazing in the courtyard, and that wasn’t good. Dream or no dream, Peter didn’t like headed down those inkblack corridors without Tony’s hand in his.

Fortunately he didn’t have to look far. He found Tony lying motionless on the floor in a vast, empty room that was part of a wide hallway. It was just at the bottom of the large staircase that took them up to the huge black windows that looked down on the Transylvanian forest. If they ever stopped to look out those windows, Peter suspected, they would see Dracula himself, scaling the impossible walls like a lizard.

Peter smiled fondly as he gathered Tony into his strong arms and carried him back upstairs. 

“You did very well, Tony,” he said gently, watching the pale face rolling weakly against his bicep. “You’re my superhero. You flew in and saved the day. _Thank you_.” 

When Tony fed from dying animals he looked much like he did now, pale and drawn. Peter was used to seeing his friend looking younger and stronger when he was well fed, looking older and more distinguished when he was overworked or tired. But Peter had never seen Tony look like _this_. In addition to the pronounced grey at his temples his beard was very silver. Pure-white stubble grew over his hollow cheeks and his body, as light as a feather. And yet Peter thought he still looked remarkably handsome.

“I’m going to build a huge rabbit hutch, I’m going to fill it with rabbits. It will be Rabbit-New-York-City. And I’m going to feed them all to you. One night you’ll climb into my bed, and you’ll be the same age as I am…”

Tony hadn’t spoken, or even opened his eyes, when Peter carried him through the vast doors that led to the ornate, rose-laden bedroom. Peter steadfastly ignored this fact. He could be just as stubbornly cheerful as Aunt May, when he had to be. He lay Tony tenderly inside the curtained bed. “Am I going to have to kiss you, like Sleeping Beauty?” he joked, and Tony gave a tiny smile.

“You’ll be the shy moon tonight,” he said as he quickly stripped out of his poet’s shirt and breeches, and climbed, clad only in his boxers, into the bed. “I’ll be the passionate sun, and _I’ll_ be gentle with _you_...”

“ _Be gentle with me, Master_ ,” Tony whispered. It was the first words he had spoken all evening.

Peter continued to praise Tony tenderly as he worked him out of his complicated shirt and tight pantaloons. “You did very well, everyone is very relieved,” Peter explained as he lifted Tony up and pulled him completely into his lap so he could turn back the heavy blankets. “Although I guess I should have specified not to let Mr. Lovelace hurt the DeSlaughters, but they’re fine now. Everyone is going to be fine.”

“He bore no ill will toward the father…” Tony tried to explain in a halting voice. Peter shushed him as he tucked them in. He pulled Tony close as he continued. “The dawn was coming. I needed their aid. I roused the dogs, and dogs roused him, and he took Mr. Lovelace away in his pick-truck…” but he stopped speaking when Peter brought their mouths together, parting his lips willingly for Peter’s tongue.

Peter offered a vein, but Tony seemed to only want to kiss him over and over again. For a very long time they held each other silently, kissing and touching. Peter stroked Tony’s face, kissing and lapping his tongue into Tony’s mouth, coaxing out Tony’s tongue. Tony seemed too weak to even cling to him. Peter took Tony’s hand and spread it over his chest, letting Tony feel the steady beat. In time Tony began to rouse, reaching up to tangle his fingers through Peter’s hair, pulling him close. Finally he broke the kiss and brought Peter’s fingers into his mouth. As he fed, Peter spoke.

“I guess the owls in the barn weren’t much sustenance. You left an eight, maybe ten foot blast radius right at our border. Grass, trees, vines, all black. They said Mr. Lovelace set fire to it, but of course there’s no ashes. There’s not even a smell. We’ve had neighbors driving by looking at it all day. But that’s okay, killing plants is always okay. We have plenty of plant life. I just thought the seals of Evorá were going to feed you because you were protecting us…”

Tony had moved from Peter’s fingers to the vein on Peter’s neck. Now he turned and suckled at Peter’s wrist for a moment before answering.

“Had he made a threat, but he spoke no threatening words. He only said 'I wish to have a word with the missus.' He said it again and again. But I knew how afeared Aunt May would be, to see him in that state. I would not let him pass. Because he made no threat, the seals of Evorá would not answer to me…”

“Yes, Mike’s dad said Mr. Lovelace said you two had a _long_ talk,” Peter said proudly.

Tony smiled back. “I was most frightening, Master.”

“I’ll say. ‘Eight feet tall with arms that reached to your knees, pitch black.’ I’ve seen that before. I guess it is rather frightening,” Peter said, smiling and kissing Tony’s smile. “Mr. Lovelace told Mike’s dad you were the ghost of Evan Post, and I suppose Mike’s mom has told the whole town by now. So now I live on a ‘haunted farm’ again. I don’t mind, though.”

“I have served you well? Make me your beloved, Master…”

“Y _es_ ,” Peter whispered against his mouth. He slipped his tongue inside Tony’s mouth, letting him feed that way for a long time.

“But why are you weak?” Peter asked as Tony nuzzled back into the crook of his neck. “That eight-foot tall man, with the long arms, I’ve seen him before. Does it take a lot of effort to look like that?”

“He was so _ill_ ,” Tony moaned against Peter’s vein before feeding again.

“Yes, that’s what they said. He’s in the hospital now. He’ll probably stay there.”

“He’ll surely die,” Tony murmured. 

“That’s not our fault,” Peter reassured him. “That wasn’t you. That was going to happen anyway.”

Tony fed for a long time from the vein in Peter’s neck before he spoke again. When he did, he held up his hand in a fist. “There were so many…” he said, tightening his fingers.

“So many… what Tony?” Peter asked, caressing his hand.

“ _Crescimento_ . Poison. _Krebsartig._ So many. I devoured as many as I could. Had he stayed still long enough, lay himself in my arms, I could have eaten so many more. But not all. Not the ones in his brain, the ones in his spine…”

“I don’t understand. He has… _fists_ in his brain?”

“ _Tumores_. So many. Some the size of seeds, some the size of peas, one the size of a grape. One the size of a walnut…”

“Wait, you mean he had tumors? And you… were you trying to heal him?”

“I served all the Post elders in this way. For Bishop Berthwald. For my Simeon. I can consume them. They give me strength, they are substance, but they are _bitter_ …”

“Oh God Tony, did you… did you poison yourself?”

Tony lay a weak hand on his own his own chest. “Inside my darkness they will… _wegschmelzen._ It is very old magic. But it takes time. When they are dissolved, they will be sustenance for me. They will make me strong. I will come to your bed a very young man…” he whispered with a grin.

Peter kissed him again, willingly letting Tony suck gently on his tongue again, hoping to undo some of the bitter that Tony had fed on the night before.

“You were so gentle with him. You did so well, Tony,” he said after some time had passed.

“I took the light from one lung, from one kidney. So poisonous, so much disease. I took the light, yet he pushed on. He was so used to pain. He barely noticed. He could not move his arms, nor his hands. But his pistol, in his hand, he could not _release_ it. I advised him to, and he agreed, but he could not open his fingers to release it.”

“That’s what Mike’s Dad said. They stood with him on the porch and argued with him in until it was full daylight. Said they could give him a ride to the hospital if he put the gun down, but he couldn’t. It was like he was paralyzed, but he was still standing…”

“You did not wish him to lay down in the road, for fear of his life. And he would not leave the road. He would keep moving forward. I could not dissuade him, although I was _very_ fearful. He called me ‘Evan Post’ and heeded not my warnings. When I could not convince him otherwise, I simply showed him ‘forward’ that was not truly ‘forward.’ Over and over and over he found himself walking east when he meant to walk west. But the dawn was coming. I was growing weary. I roused the DeSlaughters who cared for him. They have taken him to the healing place. He will not live, Master.”

“Yes, but that’s nothing anyone can do about that. He has cancer in his brain, that’s what Mike’s mom said. And it sounds like he has cancer everywhere else too.

“You’re sure… you’re sure what you ate from him isn’t bad for you, is it? What can I do to make it better?” he asked, hoping Tony would suggest another feeding kiss.

Tony did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know you can't leave another kudo, so leave a comment!
> 
> Leave a comment the size of a seed, or of a grape, or of a walnut. Honestly, leave one the size of a watermelon, I'd be happy!
> 
> \-----------------------
> 
> Some AO3 authors do not care for constructive criticism. Constructive criticism must be requested.
> 
> I HOWEVER FEED ON IT THE WAY A DEMON FEEDS ON TUMORS and they don't even taste bitter to me so please, PLEASE, feed me your questions, your confusion, and your constructive crit!


	5. The Man Who Inherits The Spellbooks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beautiful, beautiful artwork is by von--gelmini.

****

**The Man Who Inherits The Spellbooks**

It took three nights for Tony to recover from feasting on Mr. Lovelace’s sickness. They met every night in dreams, holding each other and talking. As far as Peter was concerned, he could spend the rest of his life like that, snuggled in Tony’s arms, legs intertwined, skin to skin. Nothing embarrassed him in dreams. In dreams, those things didn’t matter.

In real life, Peter hid his erection by angling his body away from Tony, or by turning around completely and bunching up the covers. When Tony fed, Peter’s stiffening cock, just like the rest of his body, simply relaxed.

But in dreams, Tony made a much more practical suggestion. 

“It is _sweet_ ,” Tony crooned, his fingers playing with the hem of Peter’s boxers. “It is your _light_. It is more nourishing than tears, more nourishing than fear. Like the sweat of your brow, like the touch of your skin, like the warmth of your mouth…” He kissed Peter, his tongue slipping inside as demonstration. “It would feed me, Master. It would heal me. It would make me strong for you…” 

Peter really couldn’t argue with that logic. Not while Tony was struggling to recover from saving Peter’s family from Mr. Lovelace. Tony was still thin and drawn in the dreams where they met, all because Peter had sent him out to fight Mr. Lovelace without specifically saying “And don’t eat up all his cancer while you’re there.” 

Besides, Tony could be very convincing. 

And his mouth was so perfect; warm and skillful. Just greedy enough to make Peter feel wanted, just gentle enough to make Peter feel safe. And Tony’s strong hands, holding him so firmly as he gave himself over to the release, became so tender and soothing when it was over. 

And in the morning, there was no evidence that it had been _that_ kind of dream. And _that_ kind of dream, Uncle Ben had assured him, was perfectly natural, no matter what the First Devil’s church said. Peter wasn’t supposed to worry about it. 

So he didn’t.

Peter was so happy dreaming, he never wanted to get out of bed. He, May and Ben took several days off after the DeSlaughters called them, explaining how they had given Mr. Lovelace an early morning ride to the hospital. But those two days were dull, Tony-less days, days of endless interviews with police (now that it was clear Sheriff Bentley’s cousin had brain cancer, they were far more interested in acknowledging all the crazy stuff he had done BEFORE he had tried to visit Peter’s family in the middle of the night with his service pistol in his hand and his 44 tucked into his waistband) and endless visits from Neighbors Bearing Casseroles. Aunt May explained that, with Mrs. Lovelace being dead and Mr. Lovelace dying in a hospital, the citizens of Devil’s Holler were _desperate_ to complete the Ritual of Casserole with _someone_. The DeSlaughters had it worse, casseroles filling up their refrigerator and the freezer in the garage. The two families ate together every night for a week; great feasts around the Post dinner table as they diligently tried to consume all the food their neighbors had burdened them with. Peter couldn’t complain – it was hard to complain when you were presented with multiple desserts every night. He consumed calories dutifully, knowing he was also feeding Tony. 

Finally Tony emerged from under the bed, healthy and strong. His hair and short-cropped beard were jet-black again, his handsome face carefree. “Where did _these_ come from?” Peter teased, running his hands over newly formed muscles on Tony’s upper arms, almost as thick as Peter’s own. He felt a flutter in his stomach as Tony wrapped those strong arms around him to feed, molding their bodies together.

After he fed, Tony held Peter close and explained how he had been instructed to remove tumors from the body as early as the monastery days. They made him stronger, far stronger than feeding on farm animals, although it took time and “light” before the poison itself was neutralized. It was an ancient magic that was inherent to his summoning, something he did on instinct, without waiting for orders or even permission. 

“Wait, are you saying you could… is that how Evan Post lived to be so old? You can cure cancer?”

“Cure? No. I do not ‘cure.’ I consume. Pain is mine to consume, and some _krebsartig_. Not all. There were spells for injuries, the loss of blood, the loss of a limb. When tasked I could lie down with my charge…” Here he began pressing his body to Peter’s again, but Peter turned around and pressed his back to Tony’s chest, angling his potential erection the other way. What Tony did with his mouth was for dreams only.

“…I would persuade the heart to continue beating, long after it longs to cease. I can prevail upon the lungs…” He ran strong hands up both sides of Peter’s chest. “To continue to move. The brainpan,” he combed tender fingers through Peter’s hair ”to keep it’s light, long after the light wished to depart. Oh, I can do this for a very long while, when I am strong enough…”

“So you could… if anything happened to Uncle Ben or Aunt May…even though they aren’t Posts… but if they had cancer you could…”

“I am yours,” Tony murmured, kissing the back of Peter’s hands. “You called me, you named me. I serve you now, and because they are yours, I serve them.”

“And I could… could I send you into a hospital? If I did could you…”

“Strangers are more difficult, strangers require the spellbooks. Mayhap a good, fat swine. Maybe two…”

“Mr. Lovelace wasn’t a stranger?”

“ _Philip Lovelace trod upon my covenant ground._ ” Tony’s growl against the center of Peter’s back covered his arms in gooseflesh. “His _entire body_ was forfeit to me. I could have consumed his flesh and left nothing but dust in the road, but my most gentle Master…” he kissed skin between Peter’s shoulder blades. “…has forbidden me thus.”

“But you…” Peter pulled away and sat up in the bed.

“But you cured his cancer. I mean you didn’t cure it, it’s all over his body and he’s still dying from it but… but you were taking away his tumors even as you were trying to make him too sick to walk all the way to our house. I’m not… you did very well,” he said firmly, putting his hand solidly on Tony’s chest. “You did _very_ well. You were brilliant. But you were right, he was far too used to ignoring pain for our strategy to work. And your Tall Man vision was just beautiful, but he was too crazy to care. Given how long he was willing to stand there and talk to you. I can’t imagine anything you could have shown him was scary enough to compete with what was going on in his own diseased head. Making him think he was going in the wrong direction over and over again, _that_ was brilliant. It was perfect. You did well, Tony. Thank you.

“I just wish… if only you could have told me what was happening, I could have helped you. Laying down in the middle of _our_ road would have been fine, no one was going to run over him there at 3 in the morning. And I still would have fed you, you could have eaten all his tumors after you knew he wasn’t walking anywhere.” He smiled and stroked Tony’s hair. “And if he had just gone to sleep, I know you would have convinced him to just go to the hospital. You could have convinced him to do anything. You’re the _dreammaster_.”

Tony glowed under the praise, nuzzling his head into Peter’s hand.

That gave Peter an idea.

“Tony, were you… you _were_ … were you a _cat_ that night? At the door? It was so late at night I can hardly remember.”

“When I came to the doorstep, yes. Small, ugly things are easy. They take little strength. Being a handsome man for you, that takes nourishment…” he said slyly, slipping the two fingers of Peter’s left hand into his mouth.

Peter let him feed. He was still sitting on the bed, thinking. “If you could be… if you were a _cat_ you could have come into the house. You could have sat next to Aunt May and feed on all her fear and that would have given you the strength you needed to do what you did on the road.:”

“Cats aren’t allowed in the house.”

“What… _what_?!”

Tony had mumbled the words around Peter’s fingers in his mouth, and Peter couldn’t believe he had heard them right.

“Why did you say that _?_ ” Peter said, suddenly pulling his fingers out of his friend’s mouth. “I never told you that.”

“It’s the Mistress’ rule,” Tony said humbly. 

Peter’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. He stared at Tony, speechless.

“Cats are not allowed in the house,” _was_ the rule. It was Aunt May’s rule. Although Peter had never told Tony that.

Then again, “If it has a name, it is a pet,” was _Uncle Ben’s_ rule, and Peter wasn’t sure he had ever told Tony that either.

“Tony, are you following Ben and May’s rules too?”

“They are the Master and the Mistress of the house,” Tony said quietly, calmly, as if explaining things to a stubborn child. “They sleep in the Master Bedroom…”

“…where the Patriarch and Matriarch of the family, that’s why it’s called the ‘Master Bedroom’ _not because it has a bathroom attached_ , they told us that when we bought the house,” Peter said, rocked by the revelation. His head was spinning. When the realtor was giving them the “Full Disclosure,” which meant explaining where Evan Post’s body had been found in the house, they had described the Post tradition of the leader of the family being announced by who slept in the ‘Master Bedroom.’ The realtor described how, in the Post family, the title of “Patriarch” was NOT passed down, always, from father to son, but sometimes from brother to brother, and occasionally from father to Man Chosen By Daughter. What he was describing, Peter later learned, was the man _who inherits the spellbooks,_ the man who had the ultimate control of Tony.

“Tony…” Peter said, trying to speak coherently despite the new turbulence in his brain.

“It is… it is _good_ that you… I’m glad that you are going to take care of Aunt May and Uncle Ben. That’s a good thing. But Tony? If either one of them ever says something that starts with “I Wish” you _cannot do it unless you ask me first_. No fulfilling wishes… or letting them task you to do something, without asking me first. And even I can’t task you to do something without using the formula…”

“Aunt May doesn’t want you to watch those naughty shows on the new channels…”

“Stop!” Peter’s back was turned, but he whipped around now and put his fingers on Tony’s lips. Just the words “the new channels” sent a guilty thrill through his entire body.

“I know what Aunt May thinks, but I’m the boss of you… I mean… I mean _we’re friends_ , right?” Tony didn’t even seem to be paying attention. He was kissing and licking Peter’s fingertips and looking content.

“Besides, I’m nearly 17 and I think I’m at least “Master” of what I see on HBO…”

“You are _my_ master. You called me. You named me. You _feed me_ …” He gave a lurid smile and took Peter’s entire pointer finger into his mouth and began sucking obscenely.

“Stop, you don’t even feed from _that_ one,” Peter said giggling, pulling his hand away and drying it on the sheets. Tony moaned and reached for Peter’s hand, but his look was playful. Peter shook his head. He had let Tony suck on his fingers for so long it seemed perfectly normal, but just now he was remembering other things Tony could do with his mouth…

“Tony, _quit_ , I’m trying to tell you something very important. _Listen_ ,” Peter said, scolding a little, keeping his hands behind his back.

“I really, really, Just - Say -No joke, for serious, really _really_ mean this. May and Ben don’t know you exist. When they start talking about what they want or what they wish _they aren’t talking to you_ . If you get any ideas about doing something for them you _must_ come to me first. 

“I mean it Tony,” Peter continued as he finally gave his hand back to Tony, who kept inching toward it. “If Aunt May says ‘I wish that horrible man in the White House would just die’ you can’t go making any trips to D.C. Do you understand?”

“Is the White House still 12 leagues west, 88 and one half-league south?” he asked carelessly, scraping his beard across the back of Peter’s fingers.

Peter’s mouth opened and closed, but no sounds came out. 

“Two leagues east of Little Island on the Potomac River?”

He smiled slyly at Peter’s reaction.

“I know the way.”

Peter’s jaw hung open.

“Do Woodrow Wilson’s sons still rule the Americas? Nay… nay t’would be his grandsons…”

“Tony…”

“ _I know where they sleep_ …” Tony said with a wicked grin and began kissing Peter’s fingertips one by one. 

“Tony.” Peter forced the words through his slack jaw, his dry mouth. “Who showed you to how to journey to the White House?”

“Cassius Post.”

“The stock market genius… oh god. Tony…? Tony could you… can you make people dream things, and then they might do the thing…” Peter stopped and tried again. Suddenly his brain was buzzing with possibilities.

“Tony, can you actually use dreams to make people do things they really, _really_ don’t want to do?”

Tony was clearly irritated at this line of questioning. He dropped Peter’s hand and scooted away on the bed, pouting, one arm tucked under his head. But his eyes were looking up, which meant he was thinking about the question.

After a few moments he said “The Post Patriarchs dreamed about burning the books upon their death. Dreamed of it over and over. For three generations, they dreamed of it.”

“But only Evan Post actually did it for you,” Peter concluded. Tony shrugged. Then grinned.

“Alright, that answers my question. That’s… that’s some amazing power you got there. But it’s important you remember; Aunt May wishes death to politicians on a regular basis, so don’t take it seriously…”

“I can only travel that far if I am fed…” Tony said, smiling again, sneaking one hand to Peter’s waist, then lower.

“I _told_ you, that’s just for dreams,” Peter said, pushing his hand away. He didn’t want to have this argument again, so he tried to change the subject.

“Now please answer this question – if cats _were_ allowed in the house, could you be a cat inside the house and be somewhere else at the same time? It would be a very helpful thing if you could do that… what?”

Tony’s playful look had gone. He sighed heavily and sat up, pulling his hand away from Peter’s body. He reached out to touch a place on Peter’s chest, a place just below Peter’s left nipple, but dropped his hand again.

“What?”

Tony did not speak.

Peter put his hands on both sides of Tony’s head and looked him directly in the eye. “Tony, I really, really, Just - Say - No joke, seriously...”

“It will hurt you,” Tony said very softly.

“No. It won’t… it won’t hurt to _tell_ me. 

“Just give me the _information_ ,” Peter said gently. “ _Information_ doesn’t hurt.”

Tony looked up at him warily. His face was younger, but his eyes were still infinitely old. He shook his head. He clearly disagreed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is me on Tumblr:
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thestarkerisobvious
> 
> Come by and hang out in my master bedroom.
> 
> \-----------------------------------------------
> 
> HEY THERE READER YOU KNOW YOU CAN'T LEAVE ANOTHER KUDO so leave a comment to let me know you were here!
> 
> Unlike the cats in Aunt May's house, YOU are absolutely welcome to leave a comment, question or constructive crit here!


	6. Witchesmarks, Superheroes and Tom Dylan Post

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always to my incredible (and very generous) artist von-gelmini.
> 
> Who I can buzz AT ANY TIME day or night and say "hey, how about a moodboard for..."

****

**Witchesmarks, Superheroes and Tom Dylan Post**

Tony’s gentle examination of Peter’s body was very nice. Embarrassing, but nice. For a long time he stood naked before his friend and let Tony inspect every part of his body, his neck, his underarms, even allowing Tony to spread his asscheeks with gentle hands while he giggled and blushed. Then he turned and allowed Tony do the same to his chest, his stomach, finally moving his awakening cock from side to side, combing fingers through his pubic hair. He kept his hands on Tony’s shoulders while Tony looked. Finally he lay down and allowed Tony to continue his search around his scrotum. He kept his eyes closed, reminding himself to breathe. Reminding himself of the dream-rules and the awake-rules, until Tony sat up, clearly disappointed.

“You have none.”

“I have no… what?” Peter said, pulling on his boxers hastily and diving under the covers.

“No witchesmark.”

“But I thought… I read a witchesmark could be anything, a mole or a freckle or a scar…”

“To an inquisitor, yes. In truth, no. The witchesmark is special. You were not born with one.”

“But you said they could be made…”

“It will _hurt_ you, sweet Peter.”

“We’ve talked about this, Tony.”

Tony’s examination of Peter’s body was very nice. The tense argument they had for days afterward was not. Walpurgisnacht was upon them. The last day of April was a night of power for Tony. Peter had Tony search out a large stray dog and lure it to their house. Peter was feeding it on the sly, but steadfastly refused to name it, or even acknowledge to May and Ben that he had seen it. They wouldn’t miss it when it was gone. Peter had made a list of memories he was prepared to feed Tony, books and magazines, even a Star Wars movie and that thing he had gotten up at 3 in the morning to watch on the special channels, memories that Tony could take completely if it gave him enough strength. 

“But it cannot do it without pain, my Master. I am an excellent dreamweaver, but I am not a skilled body-weaver. I have done it, but it is _painful_.”

“I’m not afraid of pain, Tony. I’ve caused pain. I’m not afraid of it.”

What Peter was afraid of, the thing that was the ultimate sacrifice, was the knowledge that the whole project would take weeks to complete, and in weeks there would be no more Tony. It was one thing to ask Tony to hurt him, it was another thing to ask Tony to commit to a task that would be his last before he left to sleep out the summer under the bed. Still, Peter was determined. 

“I keep telling you Tony, _every_ superhero in my comic books _had_ to go through a lot of pain to get their powers. I’m willing to go through the pain to give _you_ more powers, Tony. _You_ will be the superhero. You could have a lot of cool superpowers, Tony. And _I_ have to make up for the mistake I made. I _have_ to do this.” 

* * * *

When Peter awoke in Castle Dracula and found Tony standing beside him, he was certain that everything would be alright. Tony was dressed in odd clothing and old-fashioned spectacles, like a scientist in a Victorian drama. The laboratory he led Peter into certainly could have come straight from a Frankenstein movie. Still, Peter felt very brave. He was with _Tony_ , after all.

There were two Tonys in that dream. Four, if the hunchback assistants lurching around the background were Tonys too, but Peter never looked to see. Doctor Tony didn’t look scary as he cuffed Peter’s wrists and ankles to the table. He looked very calm. But he was also very calm when Peter was screaming, and somehow that was even more unnerving. 

The other Tony, Peter’s Tony, stayed very close to him, sometimes climbing right up to the other side of the table and lying down next to him, whispering in his ear, one hand firmly on his bare chest. Peter knew exactly what he was doing – he was urging Peter’s lungs to keep taking in oxygen through the excruciating pain, he was convincing Peter’s heart to continue it’s steady beat even though his body was clearly being taken apart. He kissed the side of Peter’s face and sang him songs in Portuguese. 

For hours upon hours, for what seemed far longer than an actual night, Doctor Tony, who sometimes sported 3 or 4 pairs of arms, stitched into his body with long needles and white thread. Peter tried to picture himself as the Million Dollar Man on TV, suffering through the constant surgeries. He tried to remember how the newspapers said Captain America’s serum had cause him agonizing pain before it was over, how the Incredible Hulk experienced excruciating pain every time he transformed. Peter tried to focus on them, because they were real people.

But mostly he just remembered what he had done to Missy Lovelace. He just reminded himself how he had ordered Tony _not_ to make reports when he returned from the Lovelace House, although Tony tried to. Had clearly wanted to. The idea of adults yelling had always upset Peter, but the idea of adults _yelling at each other_ was more than he could bear. Over and over again Peter had sent Tony out to feed on Missy’s fear without listening to a word about what Missy was afraid of. That’s why he let Doctor Tony continue with the needles. That’s why he steadfastly tried to concentrate on his Tony trying to teach him to count in Portuguese. 

* * * *

For the entire weekend Peter didn’t even get out of bed. But when the weekend was over he had to haul himself up and struggle through school. Staying home from school required a doctor’s visit, and Peter didn’t want to see a doctor.

He didn’t want to have to explain to the doctor, let alone Ben and May, how he had managed to grow a third nipple on the left side of his chest.

He kept it hidden under a bandaid which he hid under a larger bandage which he hid under an undershirt that protected him from his shirt. He felt every layer. It throbbed and ached on his body, radiating throughout his whole frame. Every touch against his shirt, or anywhere near his chest at all, went through his body with a painful and embarrassing electric jolt.

His only relief came after dark when Tony came out from under the bed to hold him. He feasted on the pain, holding Peter gently, laying underneath him like a warm body pillow. Tony stroked his hair and told him endless stories and taught him children’s songs in Portuguese about colors and chickens. Tony knew a lot of children’s songs in Portuguese. He fed gently from the vein in Peter’s neck, but never ventured to touch the witchesmark, assuring Peter it would heal in time. 

Peter hoped it would. Peter couldn’t even conceive of letting Tony _touch_ it, let alone use it to feed. 

“Is this how you gave the Post family members superpowers? By a body-weaving? Is that why only did it for one generation, and then stopped?”

“No, that magic is of spells.”

“Did someone do something bad, or see something bad, and then had to spend the rest of their lives being a hero?” He was laying with his back against Tony’s chest, looking out his window as Tony played with his finger’s idly, sometimes kissing or licking the vein in his neck, sometimes suckling at the fingertips.

“That’s what heroes do. Batman watched his parents be murdered, so he had to spend the rest of his life fighting crime. All heroes have tragic backstories. Not Superman though, although I suppose having your whole planet blow up is pretty tragic. Or was it because of the Civil War? Was that why you did it?”

“I ‘ _did it_ ’ because the spells tasked me to do it.” 

“But it seems like it all happened at once, like all the family members of one generation got powers, and then they just stopped. What happened?”

Tony was sucking gently at Peter’s neck. Often he would feed to avoid answering questions, but when Peter insisted, he told the story.

“It was after I killed Tom Dylan Post and consumed his body. His father, Thomas Post, sought to forbid me from harming, killing or consuming the body of any post male, ever. To this end he, and his brothers, and his sons, they brought out all the German books from the hidden rooms. Books that had not been opened in many generations. One had not been opened since the death of Nehemiah Post.

“There they found many spells that they had never seen before, had never heard of. Some were written in the old German, but others were in Latin. 

“They found many different protections of the body, as well as other extraordinary spells. But those tasks, I told them, took great strength. More strength than I had. More strength than I could take from cattle or swine or any other meat offering. ‘Without the infernal vapors, how can it be done?’ I argued. I tried to deceive them… I thought I could convince them to abandon their plan… but then the Post sisters sought out the seals of Evorá, and the spells from  The Book of The Student , and I feasted. I could not continue to feast upon that magic and also deny that the German spells were possible…”

“Wait, you _deceived_ them?” Peter wondered, trying to turn his head enough to see Tony’s face. “You _lied_ to them?”

“I did not _lie_ …”

“You exaggerated. Same thing, Mr. Spock.”

Peter moved his body away enough so he could watch Tony’s face while he spoke. Watching Tony’s face while he spoke always revealed as much, of not more, than his actual words.

“I didn’t know you _could_ tell them things that weren’t true…”

“Ezra and Nehemiah Post sealed me to always speak the truth to them and to their sons. They died. Their sons died. After that, no one thought to repeat the spell.” 

“Wait… you’re saying the Posts had… they had spell books with spells in them, that they didn’t even know were there? And they _always_ could have… but why didn’t you want to give them superpowers?”

“It was very difficult work. Tedious. To make Cecil Wayne Post impervious to the bullets we had to spend three days and nights in each other’s arms…” The look of disgust was obvious on Tony’s face. Clearly Tony did _not_ like Cecil Wayne.

“Alright, now go back and tell me why _you_ killed Tom Dylan Post.”

“He tasked me to do it.”

“Oh, he committed suicide. I wondered if that’s what happened.”

“Thomas summoned me to determine what befell of his son. When I told him what I had done, he sealed me to the spot where I stood. It was in the south dining hall. For days I stood there, immobile, while they prepared the spell to compel me to speak only the truth. It was a difficult spell, it required a black cat, a black sheep, and a black duck.”

He laughed ruefully, his eyes lowered. He looked like a man talking about a recent memory, not a memory from a century ago. “A waste of their time,” he muttered. “I was never bound to _conceal_ what I had done to him. Ada and Enid and the girls came to me and I told them true. They cried and held each other. Ada clung to my feet and begged me to take her own life as well…”

“Oh my gosh, Tony... you were… you were like a loaded gun in that house. What did you say to her?”

“I vowed to obey her. I could not deny her. She sat down at my feed in the middle of the night and wrote down the spell.”

“The spell… to kill her?”

“Yes. Should she bring me a coffin made by her uncle, a shroud stitched by her sister, and lay down in a grave dug by the youngest member of the family, and read a prayer for her funeral written by Nana Justina.”

“Oh. I think I get it. One of the four of them should have been able to talk her out of it. So then… when they did do that spell with the three animals, and you told them the truth and… did they punish you?” 

“They had no time. They had to release me to protect the land from the angry townsfolk.”

“And from all those people who set fire to the house that was on Chimney Hill?”

“The South House. They set it alight because they thought they were setting fire to the Post House itself.”

“Oh. _Oh_. You _made them think that_ they were... oh that was genius, Tony. But I thought… I thought that _was_ Tom Dylan’s house.”

“It was the house where I killed him.”

“So, that makes sense, after Thomas Post finds out that you _could_ be used _as_ a suicide weapon, because Tom Dylan used you to shoot himself. So it makes sense that he disarmed you, yeah, that way if any of his other kids decided to... so he found a spell to make it so you couldn't kill another Post, even if they asked you to...”

“That no Post could be harmed, killed, or their body consumed, by demon, angel or fae or spirit. The family disagreed on the nature of my substance, and so they put a seal on all Post descendants against demon, angel, fae or spirit.”

“The Post family thought you were fae? Or at least some of them?”

“Justina Post called me “Oberon.” Lysander Post called me “Puck.”

He nuzzled his face back into Peter’s shoulder and told him the story. About the entire family working together, the men and the women, to provide Tony with enough strength and subsistence to him, which in turn allowed him to give special powers to the family members, one by one. It was a time of great cooperation and collaboration that went on for years. For generations the women and the men had kept their books separate, even hidden. It was normal for the Post women to put wards on their books so that their brothers couldn’t even touch them. For a decade the entire family worked and studied together to the same end. Until the day the message came that Cecil Wayne had died in the war.

“Because he couldn’t withstand a cannonball?” Peter asked.

“He most certainly _did_ withstand the cannonball!” Tony exclaimed, clearly insulted. 

“But he did not withstand the second.”

“Could you do these things for me?” Peter asked finally. “You could make me impervious to bullet wounds, or snakebite, or make me able to jump out of a 20-foot tree? No of course you couldn’t,” he said before Tony even spoke. “You would have to have a whole family working together… what?”

Tony had slipped out from under him, and was now at his side, caressing his face and whispering in his ear.

“Each night, from dusk to dawn, we must needs lay entwined in each other's arms. You could not sleep whilst you were with me. You would need give your body over _completely_ to me,” he said with a grin, his hand staring and caressing Peter’s stomach. “For the whole of the time you could give me no command, nor forbid me in any way. You would need give up to me your most guarded secrets…” 

“I’m listening.”

Tony sat up on one elbow and, still grinning, turned Peter’s mouth to his. “ _Many_ Post men could _not_ succeed in the ritual,” he teased. “You could wear nothing but a white linen sheet for three days. In that time you could not invoke the holy name of God, or any saint. And you would submit yourself to the five-fold kiss…”

“What is the fivefold… you know what? Never mind,” Peter said, pushing Tony away, but just a little bit. “This sounds too complicated for now,” he said, grinning himself. “I’d have to have my own place before I can start walking around in a linen sheet for three days. Not that it matters. You said the Post Daughters had to work to create enough power for you to feed on so that you could… _what_?

“Let me guess…” he scolded, running his fingers over Tony’s smug grin. “You exaggerated about how much power you needed.”

Tony shrugged. “To learn a new spell is always difficult. The first time. The second and third times, it becomes no great matter.”

“Is it like your dreamwork? The first time you make it takes a lot of strength, but once it’s already made…

“ _Wait…_ Tony… I forgot to ask you. Some of those books you told me about, I found one called the Book of St. Cyprian. I mean not the book, but I found the title in the book catalog. I could order it, if I could afford it. Would it be the same book the Post daughters had? 

Tony was clearly surprised. “My diligent library-pilgrim,” he said, kissing Peter’s hand with a small smile. “My master scholar. Was it copied by hand?”

“Well… no. It’s published, it’s printed just like a regular book.”

Tony’s smile faded. “The only true books of St. Cyprian are copied by hand.”

“And written in Portuguese?” 

“Of course.”

“So I’m going to have to learn Portuguese,” Peter said with a heavy sigh, snuggling, as best he could, back into Tony’s arms.

“AND build a huge rabbit hutch and stock it with rabbits. And build myself a house on the Chimney Hill foundation. That’s a lot of work. I think I’ll build the house first.”

He turned his head and kissed Tony’s cheek. 

“I think it’s time I moved out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I have said before, The Book of St. Cyprian is available in pdf form and used books stores across the world. Personally I HIGHLY recommend José Leitão's English translation because of his most excellent breakdown of WHY Portuguese and Brazilian witchcraft is so freaking Catholic. 
> 
> My resources, should you care to explore them, include this interview with José Leitão:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KTXjbeTaMCg
> 
> ...and this most excellent lecture on the whole subject by José Leitão himself. He's amazing. Learn how the publication of The Book of St. Cyprian fits into the history of Portugal and the colonization of Brazil: 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oeRYO-9mi6Y
> 
> \----------------------------------------------------------
> 
> YOU KNOW YOU CAN'T LEAVE ANOTHER KUDO SO LEAVE A COMMENT!!! It's an easy thing to do -- doesn't even require spending 3 days in a linen sheet...


	7. The Price Of The Witchesmark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Because you’re really feeding now. And if you hunt in a different forest every night, you really don’t have to limit… you can eat your fill every night now. And I just wish…” His throat closed as the burning tears fell.
> 
> “I just wish I knew, going through all that pain, that this was going to be my reward. That you wouldn’t need to kiss me anymore.” 

May marched forward, and still Tony was in Peter’s bed. Soon the first of June would drive him into hiding, he promised, but for now he could remain. He was bone thin, pale and drawn, with hollow cheeks and a grizzly white beard that grew in patches across them. There was silver at his temples and in his beard. But his arms were strong when he held Peter against him and drank up his pain.

Finally the day came. Tony would _have_ to feed from the witchesmark, or else go to ground. Peter spent the day walking through school wide-eyed, jaw clenched. Mike had asked him what was wrong, and Peter accidentally bit himself instead of replying. 

He bit his mouth to keep himself from saying “I think I’m going to lose my cherry tonight, and I think it’s going to _hurt_.”

He came to bed late that night, but he _did_ come to bed. He couldn’t _not_ go to bed. Tony joined him the moment he was under the covers. 

Tony’s hands were gentle, but urgent. Peter tried to relax in his friend’s arms, but it was no use. In anticipation of what was to come the witchesmark was already painfully erect. Tony tried to kiss him, but holding their bodies together was too much. Tony tried kissing his way around the mark but that only made it worse. Peter’s whole body felt like a clenched jaw, muscles aching from the strain.

Which was nothing compared to what happened when Tony _fed_.

Every nerve in Peter’s body seemed to connect with that spot on his chest. His ribs and lungs were laced with pain. Electricity shot through his body from head to toe and his spine (and his cock) were ramrod straight. His teeth rattled. His entire body was covered with painful gooseflesh. His cries of pain certainly would have awakened the household, if his bedroom wasn’t at the end of the long hall with so many empty rooms in between. He cried out until he couldn’t cry out anymore. Crying out required air, and he had none. 

Not that Tony would have noticed. Tony was too far gone.

Which was probably a good thing, because soon Peter was thrusting his aching cock against Tony’s stomach, a fact which the demon didn’t notice. Peter came painfully. Spots appeared before his eyes, then darkness. He was vaguely aware that Tony paused his feeding long enough to lap up the wetness on his stomach, cleaning the mess he had made. 

Peter had some memory of pushing Tony away. Of Tony dissolving into smoke and disappearing under the bed with a hiss. When Peter awoke in the dead of night he was curled up in a ball under the covers, cold and alone. 

It went on that way for the next four days. 

At least the feedings were now mercifully short. When Tony had fed from a vein it took hours, sometimes two to three before Peter slept. Then another hour in the morning before he got out of bed. Tony would feed from his neck at first, then alternate between Peter’s wrist, Peter’s fingers and Peter’s mouth. Feeding from the witchesmark seemed to take less than twenty minutes, although Peter’s sense of time was skewed. All he knew was that, when he pushed Tony away and Tony disappeared under the bed, Peter lay in his bed for endless hours, dejected and alone. 

Tony, on the other hand, was elated.

He was leaving the bed to travel for 6 or 7 leagues and back, and sometimes 10, all before dawn. He stood at the side of Peter’s bed in the growing sunlight and reported, proudly, on all his ventures. Not only had he traveled to the Ithaca library and back, but now he was exploring the forested areas in between. He described journeys to Tuller Hill forest, and Hammon Hill, and a place he called Long Pond. He bragged about the deer he had counted, the owls, the foxes, the venomous snakes. Every morning he asked permission to cross the seals that night to explore. On the fourth night he claimed he had traveled all the way to Allentown, sought out the libraries, and returned home. Allentown was a two hour drive from Devil’s Hollow. Soon, he’d be strong enough to make it to New York City.

And the deer. He claimed he had explored the entirety of something he called Susquehannock where he had been summoned by the family before. He reported on every doe, buck and fawn that lived in Susquehannock. He begged for Peter’s permission to feed.

Throughout the day Peter kept a brave face, although his shoulders were slumped, his eyes downcast. At home he would sit on the edge of his bed and cry. 

It was on the fifth night that he stopped trying to hide it. 

He was there, sitting on the edge of his bed, glaring at his window and the fading sunlight, when Tony appeared on the other side of the bed. He felt the demon standing behind him, silently waiting for permission to begin. He knew exactly what he would see if he turned around – Tony bare chested, dressed only from the waist down, with powerful arms thicker than Peter’s own. His hair was jetblack as well as his scrape of beard, what there was of it. He was still devastatingly handsome, but just now Peter didn’t want to see. Just now, looking would make him more lonely.

“I’m _not_ mad at you about this,” Peter said finally, unable to stand the silence. “I’m _not_ mad that you did it, because I _asked_ you to do it. And I’m _not_ mad that it hurt, because you _told_ me it would hurt. 

“And if there’s pain, _I deserve it._ And it doesn’t last long. And it’s good that you’re stronger now, that’s a good thing. You need to be able to be strong enough to go to all those places. I’m _proud_ that you can go hunt in the Long Pond forest and be back by morning.

“I’m just… you didn’t tell me that…”

He was glad his back was turned to Tony. He didn’t want anyone to see these tears.

“I knew there was a price to pay for superpowers. There’s always a price. But you didn’t say...

“You didn’t tell me that the price was _you wouldn’t need to kiss me anymore_. That you wouldn’t need to do that thing to my fingers, or to my neck…” He gestured weakly at the place on his shoulder where Tony used to feed. He felt foolish and naive. 

“Because you’re _really_ feeding now. And if you hunt in a different forest every night, you really don’t have to limit… you can eat your fill every night now. And I just wish…” His throat closed as the burning tears fell.

“I just _wish I knew_ , going through all that pain, that _this_ was going to be my reward. That you wouldn’t need to kiss me anymore.” 

There was a short silence. Followed by a very long silence. Finally Tony walked around the bed and gathered Peter up in his arms. 

Peter allowed it, sinking into Tony’s embrace the same way he had the night they stopped Mr. Lovelace, letting his head fall against Tony’s arm, Peter nuzzling his face against Tony’s muscular bicep. Tony carried him around the bed and then climbed onto it, walking on his knees to the middle. Then he held Peter against his chest with one arm leaning back to turn down the bed and tuck him under the covers. 

Peter had to smile. He had _taught_ Tony how to do this. He had tucked Tony into the bed just like this, more than once.

Tony slipped into bed beside him, snaked one arm under his shoulders. With his other hand he caressed Peter’s face. Finally, he spoke.

“What if I… just want to kiss you?”

Peter blinked up at him in surprise.

“But why?”

Tony gave him a curious, someone perturbed look, as if he had asked a very strange question. He reached out and touched Peter’s lips with gentle fingertips.

“Because I _want_ to.”

He leaned down and pressed their lips together. Peter’s mouth opened in surprise, but Tony didn’t lap inside with his tongue, just kissed Peter’s mouth and then withdrew. Kissed and withdrew. Over and and over again, his hand caressing Peter’s face, then his chest. Kissed and withdrew until Peter tangled one hand in his hair and pulled him down for something deeper.

Tony’s hand ran deliciously down Peter’s back, caressing his ass and his thighs, pressing their bodies close. Peter’s witchesmark hardened, but there was no pain now, only a friction that wasn’t _entirely_ unpleasant. He didn’t pull his chest away from Tony’s chest. He enjoyed being in the arms that were stronger than they had ever been before.

He told Tony so.

He was wearing his button-down pajama shirt, hoping Tony would unbutton it slowly before he fed. But now he was unbuttoning it himself, and shedding his pajama bottoms, longing for that skin-to-skin contact. Tony’s leggings disappeared and soon their legs were intertwined. Peter’s hand was combed into Tony’s hair, his tongue pushed into Tony’s mouth.

Finally Tony kissed his way across Peter’s throat, then kissed down the center of his chest, lapping at his navel. He kissed Peter’s stomach, ran his tongue along Peter’s ribs, kissed the head of his cock through his boxers, then started the whole process over again, until Peter put his hands on Tony’s head and gently guided him up to feed.

Tony kissed his way around the witchesmark, which Peter could allow. By now the mark was painfully hard, his entire body was painfully hard. It made him breathless, and weak in a way he had never felt before. Watching Tony’s mouth was a pleasant distraction. As beautiful and tender as Tony’s mouth felt in other places, the sensation on the mark had been too intense to notice when Tony fed before. Now Peter watched in fascination as Tony took the nipple into his mouth and began to gently suck, marveling at the skill of Tony’s lips, Tony’s tongue. When it became too intense Peter pulled his head away, sometimes with a harsh grip and a fistful of hair, sometimes with a gentle hand to the chin.

Tony’s free hand moved from Peter’s ass to the small of his back and back again. Soon he was urging Peter to press his aching erection to Tony’s chest, rocking against it continually. A sly hand moved the boxers down just a few inches. Peter moaned as he felt Tony’s bare chest against him. Tony held him in an iron grip as he came.

Tony pulled away from the witchesmark long enough to lap up the moisture between them with a small moan. There was no other sound but that of Peter catching his breath. Tony didn’t return to feeding immediately, but gathered Peter into his arms and held him close instead.

Three times that night they did it, rocked their bodies together as Tony fed. The third time Peter came weakly but had almost no spend to show for it, which amused them both. In between times they held each other and talked in whispers, caressing each other’s faces with gentle fingers. Tony didn’t leave until Peter slept.

That morning Peter walked to school with a stupid look of wonder on his face. He spent the day staring at everything around him in amazement. He knew he had a reason to be happy.

He was sixteen, and… among the _other_ things that had happened in his bed last night… he had finally been kissed for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is me on Tumblr:
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thestarkerisobvious
> 
> Drop by on your way to the Long Pond forest.  
> \---------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> You KNOW you can't leave another kudo, so leave a comment!


	8. The Sisters Guard Their Treasures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, to von-gelmini my artist. 
> 
> Eu te amo.

****

**The Sisters Guard Their Treasures**

Peter gathered his friend up in his arms and held him close. Tucked the man’s head into his shoulder, ran his strong hands over Tony’s thin back, over his bony arms. 

The brief days of Tony looking young and muscular were over. Sunlight was taking its toll. His temples and his beard were silver again. There were lines around his eyes and his mouth when he smiled. Peter adored them, trying to make his friend smile as often as he could. Tony was beautiful when he smiled.

But he wasn’t smiling, not that night. He only had the strength to feed and then return to the dark. That night Tony looked grizzled. Peter found that scratchy, white growth of beard covering his hollow cheeks in patches. It was lovely to touch, felt amazing on his fingertips and in the crook of his neck, but it meant Tony was very tired. June was almost here. The darkness under the bed was calling.

Relaxing in Peter’s arms he bragged of the days when he could stand in direct sunlight, not even in the form of a lizard or a black bird, but in the form of a man. “Three hours before noon I could forbear, and three hours after. The Evening and the Morning were mine to command. I was so strong…” But not of his own merit, he admitted. It was due to the superior spellcraft of one Lysander Post.

Lysander Post had convinced his sisters to let him learn the spell from their books. He was the only one who could master it. It required an hour-long incantation, delivered in the dead of night without the aid of candle or lantern. Lysander Post succeeded because he had the incantation memorized. It was his dream to be an actor. 

But the spell was only good for a year, and only if Lysander completed it on a midnight in June. “And then he left,” Tony mused, with obvious regret in his voice. “He departed for Vaudeville. He never returned from that city.” Tony’s voice was mournful. Peter found himself overcome with jealousy for Lysander Post.

Their last night together. Peter gave Tony feeding-kisses for hours, holding him and stroking his hair. Finally he turned around in Tony’s arms, giving him the vein to feed from, trying not to be too miserable. 

It wasn’t easy. “I’ll never be able to sleep,” Peter complained bitterly, even as he insisted that tonight would be their last night. “I won’t sleep for two months. I want to find the spellbooks that keep you with me all summer…”

He moaned at the absurdity of it all. The Post Homestead had once been a place _full_ of books. To this day there were empty rooms in the rambling house full of bookshelves built into the walls. All emptied out by Evan Post, who wasn’t much of a reader. Not that those books would have helped Peter now… _those_ books would have been hidden. Kept safe. All the books of St. Cyprian.  The Book of the Student,  The Book of Athanásio,  The Burning of St. Cyprian. Peter remembered all the titles Tony had told him, still looked for them helplessly on all his library trips. He dreamed of someday discovering something in a used book store in New York city someday, the  Almanac of Tia Micaela  or the _ Thesouro de Feiticeiro. _

He was probably going to spend his entire college career haunting used bookshops, he realized.

“I want to go back in time and find Evan Post and hit him with a hammer. I want to kick in him in the kneecaps. I wish I could make a seal of Evorá right under my bed. Someday I will. Someday I’ll find out how. I’ll make seals of Evorá all around every inch of this house. I’m going to make one great big huge one right in that sunny patch behind the kitchen. But, damn you Evan Post. I guess all _those_ books were burned up and thrown in the lake.

“Weren’t they?

“…Tony?”

Tony had suddenly become very still. His eyes were closed. Peter would have thought his friend was asleep. But his friend ever slept. 

“Tony?” Peter asked, honestly confused. He put his hand on Tony’s bare chest and shook him a little. He couldn’t tell if his friend was very weak or… something else. Tony was holding very still. He looked very different.

“Tony, answer me… aren’t the books that… _aren’t_ those the books that were burned and drowned in the lake? You told me Evan Post burned all the books and drowned them in the… **_no…!!”_ **

Peter sat up suddenly on the bed, his eyes wide. " _You_ told me Evan Post burned all his _father’s_ books but he wouldn’t have been able to _burn_ his mother’s book because he would _never have been able to touch them._ **Tony**! Are those books _still here_?!”

Tony was silent, motionless. His eyes were clenched, his jaw tense.

Peter felt his chest tighten although he didn’t know why. Then, suddenly, he _did_ know why. He began kissing Tony on the mouth. “Tony,” he said, his hands on both sides of Tony’s face. “Tony, look at me.”

Tony opened his eyes, partially. He looked steadily at Peter’s chin.

“Tony, you don’t… do you think I want these books because I want to _control_ you? I don’t. You know that, don’t you? I just want to know… I just want to find the spells that make you stronger. The spells that would give you more power. I would _never_ hurt you…

“…no, **_wait…_ ** ” Peter said, pulling away again, his head spinning. “The Portuguese books wouldn’t… the German books were about _controlling_ and the Portuguese books were about _rewarding_ … you’re not worried that I’m going to hurt you…”

“ _As irmãs guardam seu tesouro_ ,” Tony whispered, his eyes never meeting Peter’s eyes. He spoke like a man in a great deal of pain. Peter caressed his face and looked into his eyes and tried to remember what little Portuguese Tony had taught him.

“ _As irmãs_ … the sisters. And _tesouro_ is the treasures. The sisters, they didn’t _want_ you to talk about their treasures, is that it? Tony, if you talk about the books, will that hurt you?

 **“Then don’t,”** Peter said suddenly. He took Tony’s chin in strong fingers and forced his face up until their eyes met. “ _Do not say anything_ **,** ” Peter said firmly “That’s a direct order. Don’t tell me _anything_ that will hurt you. I never want to hurt you, Tony.”

He placed a long, passionate kiss in the center of Tony’s forehead. “I love you,” he whispered.

Tony came to life in his arms, raising his mouth for a kiss and wrapping his arms around Peter’s back. “My loving master-scholar,” he murmured, his body relaxing in Peter’s arms, kissing Peter’s mouth over and over again. “My remarkable library-pilgrim. My superhero. My Peter.”

He rolled Peter onto his back and kissed him deeply. Peter ran his hands from the small of Tony’s back up to his head and back again, until Tony caught one hand in his and brought it up to his mouth, kissing the palm, the the knuckles, before kissing Peter on the mouth again. They kissed and held each other for a very long time.

Finally Tony pulled away, just enough to bring their foreheads together, caressing his face, letting Peter catch his breath. He gave a long, sly look down Peter’s body, noting his awakening cock. Peter had already come on his own that evening, letting Tony lap up the results with a moan. But they both knew it could happen more than once in one night.

Tony moved his head enough to look into Peter’s face. Peter found himself looking up, lovingly, into beautiful dark eyes.

“Should I make you _my_ beloved?” Tony asked gently, with a small smile.

Although he could never say why, it took Peter’s breath away. He nodded solemnly, only wondering afterward what he had just agreed too.

Tony sat up on one elbow, using one hand to stroke Peter’s face, stroking gentle fingertips along Peter’s cheek and his lips. He seemed to be waiting for something.

After a few moments of silence, Peter took that hand and guided it down, slipping it under the waistband of his boxers. He hissed at the feel of Tony’s strong, sure hand wrapping around his cock.

Tony smiled, as if a question had been answered, and kissed his way down Peter’s chest.

In the dreammeeting, coming into Tony’s mouth had been a thing of beauty. In real life, it was beauty beyond description.

* * * * *

“Never mind about the spell books,” he murmured into Tony’s chest afterward, as Tony held him close and rocked him like a baby.

“It doesn’t matter. I couldn’t read them anyway. They don’t even teach Spanish at my school. It takes me half an hour to translate anything from Latin. I don’t think I could get anyone to teach me 17th century Portuguese.”

“I can teach you,” Tony crooned with a smile in his voice. “I can teach you your numbers and your colors… _all_ the Post children loved to sing with their _tias_ and their _avós. ‘_ _Doidas, doidas, doidas, andam as galinhas’”_ he began singing, until Peter kissed him silent.

“Oh _please_ don’t sing the ‘Crazy Chicken’ song _again_!’ Peter said, laughing, trying to hold Tony’s mouth closed with one hand. The last time Tony tried to teach him the “crazy chicken” song was when he was laying in Frankenstein’s laboratory with another Tony piercing a long needle to him over and over again. The only words he had learned were “around” and “hole.”

Peter pulled away enough to place gentle fingertips on his lover’s lips.

“I don’t want to learn any Portuguese math skills or chicken songs,” he whispered, allowing his lover to mouth and suck on his fingertips as he spoke.

“I already know a lot of words. Latin words and regular words. And now I know a lot of Portuguese words. I just need you to teach me three more,” Peter whispered, bringing their foreheads together.

“Just teach me how to say ‘I love you.’”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this far.
> 
> Leave a comment and I'll teach you how to say "I love you" in Portuguese.
> 
> \--------------------------------------
> 
> CONGRATULATIONS! You have now come to the end of the story.
> 
> Thanks for reading!! Please leave me a comment to let me know you got this far! As always, I welcome comments, questions and constructive crit.
> 
> (And... if you want more... well... Peter *IS* about to turn Seventeen...)

**Author's Note:**

> Some AO3 authors do not care for constructive criticism. Constructive criticism must be requested.
> 
> I HOWEVER FEED ON IT THE WAY A DEMON FEEDS ON LIGHT so please, PLEASE, feed me your questions, your confusion, and your constructive crit -- I am constantly trying to improve my work.  
> \---------------------------------------------------
> 
> This is me on Tumblr:
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thestarkerisobvious
> 
> Come by -- I won't forbid you from mentioning Charles Darwin in Science class.


End file.
